


End of the Line

by The_Fanfic_Mormon



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adora Remains with the Horde (She-Ra), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Blood and Violence, Everyone becomes waaay less cute by the end, Gen, Moral Dilemmas, My personal journey to fuck with everyone's character arcs, No Romance, Poor Catra (She-Ra), Some Fluff, Time Skips, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 18:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fanfic_Mormon/pseuds/The_Fanfic_Mormon
Summary: Shadow Weaver separates Adora and Catra while they're still young. Years later, the war gets so much worse, as Adora's lofty ideals meet the battlefield, Shadow Weaver aims for more power, and Bow and Glimmer struggle as winning becomes a harder and more bloody goal.An exploration of how even the smallest choice effects everything, and not for the better.





	1. The Beginning and Thaymore

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, new fandom! I love this show, and as anyone who follows my work knows, that means I've made it dark! So this is something I've been planning for a good while. I know I've got to finish Get Rid of the Good Times, but I'm having a bit of a block. So you all get this. There will be an amping up of violence, and characters will change as a result of different story settings, just a heads up. Enjoy!

Shadow Weaver is hardly indolent. Her shadow-spies are everywhere, and she inspires enough fear that her need to be omnipresent is somewhat minimized. Her administrative duties are taxing, sure, but with experience come efficiency. So she lets herself relax every once in a while.

Children make that difficult. Granted, there was something rewarding at first, the idea of being a mother figure. Reaping what you’ve sown in a young mind. But children are a damn _nuisance_. Adora has so much power, so much potential there. She needs to be groomed, to be made to fit the role she’s destined to play. She’s completely unique, the child from another universe.

On the other hand, there’s…_Catra_. If there was ever a parasite given form. Leeching away all of Adora’s promise, and just generally not living up to what little promise she has herself. Their bond frustrates Shadow Weaver to no end. She’s scolded Adora, threatened Catra, and even used some physical discipline sparingly. But _nothing_ sticks. Adora will fight for her compatriot like no other, and even brave her wrath just for the little brat.

And now that she has some free time to think, duties taken care of and children put to sleep, she finds herself not liking where she foresees this going more and more. This friendship is troubling, for more reasons than its detrimental effect on Adora. It is like nothing else in the current up-and-coming pool of cadets she’s seen. No one else has a connection that strong. It is…unprecedented, how it seemingly transcends fraternization into disturbing territory.

She can see the future already. Adora, too slavishly devoted to Catra to live up to any ideal. A friendship that will turn into attraction that will blossom into a revolting flower called love. The very idea sends chill down her spine. Her Adora, wasting away because some miscreant pulled her down an early age.

There _are_ solutions, however seemingly cruel. Just killing Catra would be easy, although her absence would be noticed and mourned by Adora. And rumors travel. Reassigning Catra would produce much the same effect. It would devastate Adora. Then again…she could mind-wipe Adora. She’s young enough so that it wouldn’t erase anything crucial, and she could just shove Catra somewhere far away. It’s the perfect idea. She dozes off, the thought swirling around in her head.

The next day, she thinks about it some more. And the next. And the next. It won’t leave her alone, pervading her every moment. If Hordak notices she’s lost in thought, he doesn’t say.

One day she decides to do it, in a spur of the moment sort of way.

“Adora?” she calls out into the dormitory, voice temptingly sweet. After a couple of moments, a mess of blonde hair pops out from underneath the bunk.

‘”Hi, Shadow Weaver!” Adora chirps, gap-toothed smile on full display. The dichromatic glow of Catra’s eyes appear briefly, before the feline slowly crawls out. She stands behind her friend, looking diminutive.

“Hello, Adora. I have a… surprise for you. Come along now!” Adora eagerly takes her hand, and Catra goes to follow. “_Not_ you. You’ll get your own surprise later.”

The girl turns back and grins at her surprised friend, before the door to the dormitories slides shut.

Adora is antsy, obviously excited. “What’s the surprise?” she asks more than once, to which Shadow Weaver gives the same reply of “Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” She keeps her tone playful. Finally, they get to her sanctum.

They step into the room, the Black Garnet giving off an ambient hum. Adora is a bit taken aback, but she bends over to meet her eye. “Now, then. Close your eyes, and I’ll bring out your surprise.” Adora perks up and closes her eyes with fierce intensity, face scrunched up in anticipation.

Shadow Weaver generates a magic burst in her pointer fingers, with a moment of concentration. The crackle of red energy buzzes and Adora squirms a little at the noise, but stays stock-still with her eyes closed.

With a little flourish of enthusiasm, she presses a finger to each of the girl’s temples and _pushes_. The magic courses into Adora, and just for a moment she writhes in pain. She’s about to cry out…than slumps into Shadow Weaver’s waiting arms. She floats back to the dorm with Adora in her arms, already satisfied.

Catra is sitting on the bed, legs swinging back and forth. She looks up expectantly when she enters, but doesn’t say a word. She gently places Adora down on the bed, rubbing her forehead for a moment.

“So…when do I get my surprise?” Catra queries expectantly, looking up at her.

“Right now.” She says, than clasps her hands to the sides of Catra’s head. The energy flows from her palms in one quick burst. Catra screams, loud and piercing, before passing out in an instant.

Adora wakes up several hours later, woozy but mostly there. She’s bursting with pride when she asks about Catra and gets a confused look accompanied by a “Who?”

Catra is given to the waste management department; a fitting place for an opportunistic rat such as herself.

Shadow Weaver is so satisfied, she yells for her underlings to finish her duties before relaxing in her sanctum, bathing in the magic that circulates through the room. She deserves this. It's ben a good day.

Somewhere deep within Etheria, Light Hope stirs for a fraction of a second. A small change to history has been made. Only darkness follows.

* * *

“It’s this way!” Glimmer exclaims, gesturing towards the glow. They’d been at this for an hour, trying to follow the dodgy signal. Bow had insisted that his tablet knew the way, but _clearly_ it’s in the direction of the strange mystical glow.

“Fine. I’m just saying that my tablet…” Bow trails off as she brushes away some branches to reveal the source of the glow. A sword is there, entangled within vines. It’s fairly long, with a golden grip and a pale blue gem embedded in the middle of the guard. The clearing where it is is silent.

Glimmer looks back, eyebrows flying up as the smugness crawls on to her face. Bow rolls his eyes, but walks forward with her. “I…have no idea what this is. _Obviously _it’s a sword-” he blurts out quickly, anticipating Glimmer’s snarky response. “But it is giving off an immense amount energy, way more than anything else we’ve come across!”

Glimmer hunches over, running a finger down the gold handle. “It’s well-made. But how is this going to impress my mom?” She lets out a sigh, but grabs the sword and yanks it free from the vegetation. It’s heavy, obviously made for someone much stronger than her. The glow cuts out suddenly leaving, them in total darkness. “Ugh. Bow, hold this.” She lugs it at him, watching him catch it despite his noises of protest. Her hands light up, giving the forest a pink tint. “Now let’s get back to Brightmoon before I’m grounded _again_.”

This trip was a bit of a failure it seems. She lost the chance to impress the Queen. Another day, perhaps.

After all, it’s just some sword. Nothing special in the slightest.

* * *

Thaymore is small, lightly populated, and in the middle of the Whispering Woods. So when she proposes conquering it, the other force captains give her “the look”. Adora calls it “the look,” because everyone but Scorpia and Shadow Weaver gives it to her with annoying consistency. Usually the sorceress is glaring at everyone but her, while Scorpia just sort of sits there forlornly. She always sort of looks lonely. One of these days, she’ll go talk to her.

For now, she has to fight her skeptical, more experienced peers. “Based on intel from the preliminary scouting expeditions, Thaymore is a weak civilian target. Its position is key though!” she exclaims, running a frustrated hand through her ponytail.

The other force captains look unimpressed, but none of them interrupt her. Taking a quick breath, Adora continues a little more confidently. “It is the perfect place to stage further invasions of into the rest of Etheria. We take it, set up some manufacturing plants and a fortress, and start knocking off princesses from there.”

The blank looks of surprise tell her that the others had never even considered this. Shadow Weaver clasps her hands together, looking as proud as she can with a mask on.

The blue-headed officer- she can _never_ remember his name- clears his throat a little. “Well… uh, that seems to be an acceptable course of action.” His eyes harden a little. “Of course, you’ll be responsible for picking battalions to take.” She nods understandingly, tense but coursing with excitement.

They’re dismissed, and Adora does a little fist pump as she walks into the hallway. Her own mission, finally! She gets to prove her worth; to Shadow Weaver, to Hordak, to herself.

“Well done, Adora.” The sorceress purrs as she comes up next to her. “You have not disappointed yet. I am…excited at the possibility of seeing you deployed.”

“T-thank you.” She stammers a little, surprised by the slew of compliments. Shadow Weaver has always been kind, instilling her with the right ideas and offering support and encouragement when needed. There always was a little bit of a distance, a sort of awkward middle ground where Adora doesn’t totally know how to navigate. She’s fine with it, though. The other cadets were all friends with each other. She talks to Lonnie every once in a while. But Shadow Weaver was the closest thing she had to a friend.

“I want you to lead the other cadets into battle. A light target should prove the perfect testing ground for both your abilities as a leader and theirs as soldiers.” Shadow Weaver murmers. Adora jolts a little in excitement. She’ll actually be _commanding_ an attack. Liberating people from Queen Angela’s tyrannical rule. It’s a dream come true.

* * *

The next day, she takes a tank platoon, some lightly armored skiffs, and four sections of soldiers. The cadets are there, all boarded onto a skiff. Kyle looks terrified, but she supposes that’s hardly out of the ordinary for him. Everyone else looks eager, probably the same rush she feels at finally going into combat.

As it turns out, Thaymore had seemingly anticipated an attack. Ragtag barricades were set up in the town’s perimeter, with civilians manning them. From what her binoculars could pick up, actual weapons seemed to be in low supply.

As she lowers her arms, she can’t help but shake her head. These poor people had been brainwashed by the monarchy. The Horde offered a sense of purpose, of living under the rule of a tough but fair leader. Under the princesses, people grew complacent, lazy, and wasted their potential appeasing a hedonistic autarch. These people were actually fighting _against_ their freedom. She just doesn’t get it.

From the top of the tank she’s perched on, she motions forward. Green bolts of energy suddenly fling themselves towards the barricade. With a couple volleys, the makeshift barrier is destroyed.

“Move in!” she orders, “And remember: try to minimize civilian casualties! These are people too indoctrinated in princess propaganda to realize who’s the good guy.” Her troops nod, and the skiffs zip towards the town.

For the first couple of minutes, it’s an easy victory. Stun rods easily take out the defenders armed with pitchforks and shovels. Drones eliminate any possible defensive structures, and the tank platoon is just beginning to move in. They’ve only just crossed into the town when a random soldier runs up to her, panting and bending over in exhaustion for a split second before snapping into a messy salute.

“Force Captain Adora, there’s something you really need to know!” they bark out, helmet concealing what is probably an expression of desperation. She motions for the trooper to continue. “Along the western border of the town resistance is unusually heavy. There are reports of two combatants in particular, one skilled at wielding a bow. The other-” and they let out a breath before continuing, “The other is reported to be princess Glimmer!”

She reels back for a moment, before quickly regaining her composure. She tries to recall what they went over in force captain orientation. _Glimmer. Little is known due to limited sightings; most likely Angella’s daughter. Suspected to be a short-range teleporter, capabilities beyond that mostly unknown._ Alright, she has to play this smart. She gives herself a moment to plan.

“Put the infantry in groups of five. Take a tank and three robots. Use them to force the archer out, and lay down concentrated fire to prevent the princess from flanking. If she teleports into a group, make sure they’re spaced enough so they can attack without harming each other.”

The soldier nods, then runs back into the fray, a tank peeling off from the main platoon to follow. She hesitates for a moment. If she got injured in her first battle, or even worse… the embarrassment would be monumental. Shadow Weaver would be disappointed. She would let down _everyone_. But beating a princess…

The temptation proves to be too much, and she hops to the ground from the tank’s turret, running frantically to the west. As she moves closer and closer, she sees the efficacy of the rebellion’s two fighters. Horde soldiers are lying all over the ground, knocked out or held down with a sort of green glue, probably the archer’s work.

Finally, she comes to the front lines. The archer, a dark-skinned boy with rudimentary armor, is currently struggling against a group of her troops. He’s obviously got some combat training, but it seems to be unfocused and basic.

Glimmer seems to be faring much better. She teleports quickly around the battlefield, appearing in a flash of pink to take out one or two soldiers before disappearing just as suddenly. She sows chaos, whittling them down into a weakened, demoralized state. Adora hangs back, observing as the princess shows up in the middle of a group and throws a blast of- _sparkles_? - at the soldier with their back turned to her. She narrowly dodges a stun baton, then disappears.

But Glimmer also seems to have limits. With every teleport, the princess grows more and more fatigued. Every time she reappears, her stature is less composed, eyes struggling more and more to stay open, breathing getting heavier.

Adora lunges forward, towards the only group that hasn’t been besieged by the princess. “F-force captain?” one soldiers exclaims in surprise as she pushes past him. There’s a slight twinkle in the air, and suddenly she aims a punch into it.

The next thing she knows, the princess is sprawled on the ground, blood leaking out of her nose. Crouching down, Adora gets a good look at the princess, even as she tries to crawl away. Her tan skin is marred with bruises, cuts, and what are probably electrical burns. Her hair is as pink and sparkly as she is when she teleports, though it is matted with sweat. The princess is short and stout, muscular arms and legs weakly squirming in a futile attempt to escape the Horde soldiers are moving to surround her.

As Adora stands up, she makes sure to take mental notes to add to the briefing back in the Fright Zone. Without warning, something slams into her back. Ropes wrap around her, and for a second she has no idea what the hell is going on. Rolling over, she realizes she’s been hit with a _net_ arrow. As stupid as that sounds, she begrudgingly realizes she underestimated the craftiness of the boy.

“Glimmer, hold on!” He cries, nocking an arrow and letting it loose in a second. Moments later, a blob of green goop swallows the nearest couple of soldiers. The others hastily step back, and she is too slow in getting the dagger in her belt as the boy runs to what is obviously his friend. She cuts through the net quickly, lunging with all she has at the archer.

“Bow, look out!” The princess’s voice is high-pitched and almost singsong in quality, and _shit_ she forgot about her. Bow jumps back, and she lands on the injured girl’s legs. “Get off!” Glimmer screams, and then Adora’s reeling back as a foot slams into her face. In the midst of the sudden headache and blurred vision, she stands up on wobbly legs and watches as Bow limps off into the Whispering Woods, Glimmer leaning heavily on his shoulder.

She has no idea how much time has passed when Lonnie walks up to her and wraps an arm around her.

“Adora!”

“Huh?” Suddenly the world snaps back into focus. Horde soldiers are cheering, civilians look miserable, and Lonnie is laughing right in her ear.

“You did it! You took Thaymore!” she yells ecstatically, and it hits Adora. She did it. She really _did_ it. The rush that comes leads her to suddenly shout with glee.

“Holy crap, I-I…wow!” Words aren’t coming to her. All she can imagine is Shadow Weaver, placing a hand on her shoulder and congratulating her. She’s earned her love, and that thought means Adora hardly protests when Lonnie and the other troops lift her up and begin chanting her name.

The celebrations are short, as building squads begin to move in. This area, in a couple of weeks, will be churning out munitions and vehicles. The perfect point from which to liberate Etheria from the rule of the princesses.

There’s no other place she’d rather be.

* * *

The chants mock Bow, as he gains a slow distance from Thaymore. Glimmer weighs heavy on his shoulder. He’s pretty sure that they are too far away to hear the chants anymore, but the name reverberates through his head all the same.

This was a defeat. A bad one. And the Queen most assuredly will not be pleased. Wonderful. He takes a moment to be grateful that his dads and siblings are out of the way.

Glimmer is drained, more than he’s ever seen her. She’s barely coherent, mumbling nonsense, and he’s pretty sure the steps she’s taking are from some primal instinct to keep moving. Oh goddess, Angella’s going to kill him for this.

Then again, ever since they’d brought First One’s sword back, Angella had been…weird. Constantly nervous, distracted, and hardly even noticing when they left to defend Thaymore. She’d had a weird sort of fit, making everyone she could find hold the sword. As if the sword had an “owner” or something. The captain of the guard had managed to convince her highness to put the sword in the armory, where it had stayed ever since.

Nothing about it made sense. Whatever it was had taken a massive toll on the queen. Rather than argue with Glimmer about restarting the princess alliance, she sat there in a numb silence. Bow was pretty sure that Angella had lost hope, although no one could seem to figure out why.

Finally, he comes to the lake surrounding Bright Moon. The castle looks _so far away_. His thoughts grow fuzzy, and some part of him registers that Glimmer is no longer on his shoulder. His knees give in, and the last thing his mind latches onto before slumping to the ground is _Adora_.


	2. Flowers for the Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know that this series probably won't accumulate that many hits?  
So you know that I don't care?  
Sass aside, I felt like writing this so so here it is. I know any consistent reader of my shit probably wants the Undertale story updated, and I promise that it's coming next. Nevertheless, enjoy the escalation of the siege!

The Whispering Woods used to carry a somewhat haunted reputation to Adora. A mass of forest, impenetrable and mysterious. No Horde solider that went in came back. Rumors of ferocious beasts, living plants that’d strangle you alive, and even that the princesses used it as a hunting ground to satiate their darker desires ran abound.

Now, she thinks, as she stares at the wall of shriveling trees, even nature will bend to the will of the Horde. Then takes a moment to giggle a little at the melodrama of the thought.

“Jeez, I leave you alone for a couple of seconds and you’ve already lost it? _Yeesh_...” Scorpia mutters as she walks up beside her, tail fidgeting. The other force captain had begrudgingly been her company on the mission to Plumeria. Apparently, their superiors thought the insectoid princess (and wow, had that been a surprise!) could learn a little initiative from the rookie captain who already had a victory under her belt.

Shadow Weaver had been brimming with pride when she came back, voice cooing in a way that made her feel so satisfied. She can _never_ lose that feeling, this earned validation, and that gave her the impetus to volunteer at the stagnating siege on Plumeria, rather than helping plan the attack on the Salineas Sea-gate. Scorpia was even less enthused by this development, and had made this known by her constant grumbling on the skiff ride to the front lines, followed by a platoon of tanks she successfully managed to request from Hordak. Victory does tend to bring benefits. 

“Scorpia, you have to understand: if we can do this, we’ll be heroes! Finally taking over a kingdom, deposing our first real princess,” she takes a second to get lost in this fantasy, “it’ll be a dream come true.”

She gets an arched eyebrow in response. “Listen, this is the _worst_ place to be sent! Wars of attrition get so boring. We’ll be here forever before you decide to give up and then we’ll sulk back to the Fright Zone as losers!” Scorpia points a claw towards the herbicide injector. “This thing is slower than molasses, and I don’t even know what molasses is!”

The sincerity of this statement catches Adora off-guard, before her enthusiasm comes soaring back. “We’ll figure something out!” she declares confidently. “Oooor we won’t!” her companion mimics, storming away.

She chuckles, then jogs towards the injector to talk to the lead scientist.

“We can’t thank you enough for these supplies!” Perfuma exclaims, clapping her hands together emphatically. Glimmer flinches a little. Ever since Thaymore, sudden loud noises sound a little too much like artillery.

“It’s no problem!” Despite the bruises that adorn his face, Bow gives a good-natured chuckle, blushing from the compliment. “Perfuma, we also came here to discuss something. We’d…uh, we’d like to bring back the alliance.”

This is enough to stop her from making flowers appear in their hair, which is a little relieving. The floral princess crosses her arms and hunches her shoulder, glancing away in shame. “We…we are a peaceful people. Taking up arms is-isn’t our way.”

Glimmer throws up her hands. “Listen. I get it, you guys don’t have a lot of experience fighting. But they’re killing your kingdom! You actually think it’s a _coincidence_ that the Horde just SHOWS up,” and despite her rising voice and Bow hurriedly motioning for her to stop, she leans toward a diminutive Perfuma, “and suddenly everything starts dying?!?”

She takes a breath, closing her eyes for a split second, reopening them to find the princess’s lip wobbling as tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes. Bow is glaring at her. Between his penchant to just play nice, and Perfuma’s pacifist bullcrap, she feels like she want to punch something. But…she can’t take her anger out on her. It’s not fair.

“Alright, listen. I… I’m sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days.” Glimmer gets out, apologetically placing her hand on the tall girl’s arm. Perfuma sniffs emphatically, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, but seems to transition into a slightly better mood.

“We have no weapons, no way to defend ourselves. The universe will fix what needs to be fixed.” The crying is replaced with spiritual determination, and somehow she can feel herself becoming more exasperated.

‘Perfuma, you don’t have to fight at all. Just your support is needed. We’ll help you in any way we can.” Bow gives a bright smile, and Perfuma waffles for only a couple of seconds before nodding quickly.

The sense of satisfaction that floods into her is invigorating. She’s not only made the first effective diplomatic move towards rebuilding the princess alliance, but she’s also proved that in fact, _she_ could do it. Briefly, her thoughts flit towards the idea that this good news might be able to pull her mom from the state of dejection she seemed to be stuck in.

“Look out!” Bow screams, and she barely has time to grab the two of them and teleport before an explosion slams into the dirt where they were just seconds before.

Suddenly, people are stampeding, and Glimmer pushes Bow and Perfuma out of the way. “What is this?!?” the princess whimpers, voice fragile and raw. She glares towards where blobs of emerald energy arc over the tree line, destined to reduce this section of Plumeria to rubble.

“The Horde.” Malice drips from every word. A mask of steely determination appears on Bow’s face as he nocks three arrows, while Perfuma looks on with a conflicted look. “HEY!” she yells into the frantic crowd, shooting off a couple of large sparkles over their head. It’s enough to get them to forget about the incoming attack, if only for a moment.

“I know you guys aren’t violent. But the Horde is trying to knock down your door. Flee is you need to. But anyone who wants to actually do something, grab something and follow me!” She teleports forward, Bow running after her quickly. To her satisfaction, when she glances back a great chunk of the crowd is starting to follow, armed with scythes, spears, and even a couple of muskets that make Perfuma go white in the face. It seems her people, when pressed, are willing to resist. 

It only feels like a second of running through forest before the Horde encampment is there, grey walls bearing menacingly down on them. “Bow!” she calls, but even as she does the trio of bomb arrows whiz towards the wall. A few explosions later, it’s crumbling into the base.

She leaps into the air, teleports over the nearest soldier and slams down on her as hard as she can. Four net arrows incapacitate the troops in the immediate area. People are streaming through the hole, anger driving them forwards.

Almost immediately, a loud klaxon begins to blare. The artillery doesn’t stop, but a platoon of robots comes swarming out, infantry following close behind. A barrage of green energy flies towards them, even as Glimmer screams for the civilians to scatter.

She teleports to the nearest soldier, and dodges a punch to blast sparkles into their eye. Behind her, she hears Bow directing the Plumerians against the bots, although there’s a desperation that implies things may not go well.

She takes out fourteen more soldiers, trying to minimize her teleports. And then she sees _her_.

The force captain who beat her is there, frantically commanding soldiers with such passion that for a quick moment, she forgets what she’d doing. Than the hate comes, sheer rage that permeates every pore of her being and blocks out any thread of logic and strategy. Her vision feels like it’s the color of the jacket the captain wears.

She teleports, appearing just high enough to knee the blonde in the face. She reels back, while Glimmer charges up a blast. “How’s it feel, to terrorize innocent people?” she taunts, but the muscular women springs up fast and throws a roundhouse kick towards her neck. Glimmer teleports back half a foot, than lunges towards her with a glittering fist.

“Coming from the one who oppresses thousands, I-” she stops to duck under Glimmer’s blast, “wouldn’t be talking!” Suddenly, she can’t breathe, as the soldier’s elbow drives into her stomach. Wheezing, she teleports again, this time to propel her foot into the captain’s knee. The Horde soldier crumples with a yell of shock, and she uses those precious seconds to catch her breath.

“Adora!” someone yells, and Glimmer looks up just in time to dodge a stinger lunging towards her. A new soldier is here, and based on the green badge that adorns her chest, a force captain as well. What catches her off guard is the prehensile scorpion tail, and the pale-red craggy claws in place of hands.

Adora is on her knees when the arachnid warrior stops at her side, fretting over the crumpled captain. “Ohhhh… are you alright? You look pretty ba-”

“Hrrrggahhhhh!” is the primal sound that comes out of Adora as she grabs the stun rod from her peer’s belt, and fires. Glimmer teleports-

And flops to the ground with pain. Her muscles are _burning_, and as she finally stops spasming in the mud, her thoughts disentangle themselves from the results of the shock.

She opens her eyes to a disaster. Robots are swarming the civilian crowd, which has largely begun to hastily retreat. Bow is going through his arrows too quickly, alternating between attempting to destroy structures and repulsing the soldiers that are rushing him.

Suddenly Horde tanks begin to advance from out of nowhere. “What the…” she mutters, clumsily making her way to their improvised entrance.

“Crap!” Bow is running towards her, leading a stampede of battered civilians. She begins to run alongside him, glancing back periodically.

“Where did these come from?!?” she yells. Bow shrugs, giving her a wide-eyed look. “No clue!”

He throws himself behind the wall as the approach, and she follows suit. The lead tank slows, and a shaky figure appears on the top of it. The distinctive jacket and grimy-blond ponytail give her an identity.

“_FORWARD!!!_” Adora screams, and even at this distance Glimmer can hear the raging fire in her voice. “_Raze_ this damn kingdom from Etheria!” Bow gulps, and looks towards the forest, then back to meet her eyes. They have the same idea, she thinks.

“We need to evacuate Plumeria. _Now_.”

Houses crumble. Markets burst into flames. Trees begin to wither. And all Adora can feel is glee.

Oh, she tried the easy way. Kill some trees, wait until they couldn’t take it anymore, than liberate a domain from a princess. But _noooo_. The indoctrinated masses try to storm the base. Well not on _her_ watch.

Artillery soars overhead, clearing a path of destruction for the tanks to bulldoze through to the population centers. Besides them, infantry utilizes the fruits of her discussion with the lead scientist. Herbicide, spread on a mass scale through an aerosol-based dispersion method. Much quicker than injecting it into the ground, although less permanent. But that’ll be for after the conquest.

She watches as civilians scatter from the spreading flames, and almost smirks. Where’s their princess now?

“What?” The tank grounds to a halt suddenly, and Adora sees the answer to her question. Perfuma is tall, tan, and almost gangly in the way her legs and arms are configured. Her wavy cream-colored hair is tainted with ash. There’s a blank look on her face, as if what is happening can’t be comprehended. Adora quickly grabs a stun rod, and primes it for firing.

“Princess Perfuma of Plumeria! Your kingdom is liberated in the name of Hordak! Surrender yourself peacefully, or force will be taken in incapacitating you!”

“Wh-what did you _DO?!?_” Perfuma screams, completely ignoring her, and suddenly the ground beneath the tank shifts. It’s like a hundred snakes are squirming right below the surface.

_Oh shit_. “Reverse, full reverse!” she yells, whirling her hand in a desperate circle. She jolts forwards as the tank begins to grind back, and then all hell breaks loose.

“NO!” the princess shrieks, and the ground erupts with green tendrils, like some perversion of sea monster stories.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE THIS AWAY?!?” Perfuma is possessed with rage, and the plant matter lashes out everywhere, swatting tanks like flies.

Adora leaps from the turret, just as the vehicle beneath her is crushed by a mass of green. She rolls twice, then looks up to see seething Perfuma, held up by her plant monstrosity.

“You!” Tentacles wrap around her like a python, and she can barely breathe as the princess comes eye-level to her. “You disgusting, vile piece of garbage!” Adora tries not to look too afraid as the fuming women snaps insults, attempting to crush her all the while.

“Perfuma, don’t!” It’s the archer, Bow. He’s in a massive tree with a glowing heart embedded in the trunk, and he looks as scared as she feels. “We can’t pull ourselves down to their level! Just drive them out!”

Perfuma whips around, and she uses this opportunity to squeeze an arm down towards her belt, grasping for a flare.

“Bow, they’ll reduce this forest down to _nothing_ if I let them. And I won’t! I _won’t_ sit idly by ever again!”

_That’s it, princess, keep scolding your friend_. She wiggles her hand ferociously, and- got it!

Perfuma sends a blast of tendrils towards a platoon of retreating soldiers, and amidst their screams, she notices the tree-heart bursting with light. This tickles something in her memory, the way the –magical?- energy crackles. The argument between her and Bow phases into the background as she thinks.

_Oh_. The Black Garnet. And if that’s like that, then…

“Enough!” Perfuma screams, and turns back to her captive. It’s an apocalyptic view, Adora thinks. A princess going insane, surrounded by death and fire. She pauses. This has to be timed just right, and done quickly enough so the gunners can aim.

The princess opens her mouth, and she fires the flare through the tnedrils wrapped around her. Perfuma easily dodges it, and it soars over the tree, exploding like a firework into orange sparks.

“What a _pathetic_ last shot.” Perfuma grits out, getting so close their noses almost touch. The vines creep around her neck, and she hopes beyond hope _someone_ saw it. She can’t breathe, panic is setting in, and her calm façade crumbles as she squirms desperately. The noise of artillery stops. _No…_

Suddenly, she drops to the ground, slamming into grass as a series of explosions rips apart the heart-tree. Wood splinters fly everywhere, and the archer shoots a sort of grappling hook to just dodge the barrage. Adora stands up on wobbly legs, and sees Perfuma writhing in the air, plant tendrils flailing out of control. The princess is screaming, not words, but a visceral sound of pure pain. She rushes towards the flaming plant, and the tentacles suddenly punch into the wood, prying out the heart with an ugly crunch.

She looks back at her troops to see them all staring at the odd situation, before a familiar whistling noise reaches her ears. Turning to the princess, some basic feeling of mercy is mustered from deep within her. She never wanted to kill. “Get away!” she yells, and all the princess has time to do is look at her with delicate and confused eyes before another artillery barrage comes slamming down in front of her.

The heart-stone goes flying, but the tree collapses completely. Perfuma is nowhere to be seen. Halfway through the magic stone’s arc, it disappears in a flash of pink glitter. She manages to catch the tried yet ferocious glare the Queen's daughter sends her way.

Later, after the infantry sweep through the rest of Plumeria, there are more celebrations. This is the first real kingdom they’ve liberated. Adora is getting pats on the back, and she will have to file a report later about her theory involving the magical stones and the princesses’ powers.

But for now, she watches the clean-up crews remove layer after layer of scorched splinters of wood. There’s no Perfuma, just a small corner of singed fabric. An awkward sort of pang that emanates from within her chest, and she realizes that this is what it feels like to actually _take_ someone else’s life.

The only thing she can think to do is bottle it all up. No use in a squeamish soldier, she thinks uneasily, before trudging to the command tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. This is where things start to go darker, in terms of battles. Be warned.


	3. Things break, crack, and crumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit, but I plan to finish this story. Here, we get to Salineas, where the Horde's recent conquest and Adora's theory brings some interesting changes. Additionally, our heroes make a trip to the mountains early, where the beginnings of an unraveling make themselves known. I'm sliding in some character shifts, as I have a couple if ideas as to where Adora and Glimmer should develop.

There’d been three days of peace. Seventy-two blissful hours of nothing. Bow had difficulty thinking of a time he’d slept harder. He’d barely been able to make it to his guest room in the castle before welcoming the comforting embrace of sleep. That way, he’d get rest, avoid the guilt of thinking about a probably-dead Perfuma, and dodge the brief flare-up of concerned anger Angella would get before sinking back into her depression.

But they were in the midst of a rebellion. With the queen seriously off-kilter, the generals had formed a ruling council to control the war effort. The lower ministers seemed to be running the kingdom independent of a monarch, but there was this undercurrent of panic, like the house of cards was about to come crashing down at any moment.

Now he and Glimmer were trudging through the mountains to the west of Brightmoon, on another diplomatic mission to request aid from Princess Entrapta. Some part of him is a little relieved at the lack of fighting on this mission. After the Plumeria disaster, neither one of them is really ready to go back into the fray just yet.

As if reading his thoughts, Glimmer mutters, “At least we won’t kill a princess this time.” He flinches. It’s not in her character, to use dark humor. The incident with Perfuma changed a lot, it seems. Lugging the rune-stone all those miles back to the castle in silence was the most unpleasant experience he’s ever had, images of flames sweeping over Perfuma replaying constantly in her head. Bow’s been able to put on a veneer that matches his usual enthusiasm, but Glimmer seems unable to cope.

“Glimmer… there was nothing-”

“Don’t you dare!” Glimmer snaps suddenly, hands bunching into tight fists. “We are supposed to be rebellion fighters, and all we’ve done is lost a kingdom and killed a princess!" At every stage, _Adora-_” The emphasis causes her voice to break, and despite her rage he places a comforting hand on her shoulder. This hasn’t been easy for anyone.

“At every stage,” she continues, “Adora has beat us. Some new force captain with tactical skills beyond what we’ve ever seen from the Horde before. What I wouldn’t give to just…”

The princess peters out as Bow raises an eyebrow. This is something that concerns him. His friend has always been the tougher of the two, but the fury from the past two incidents involving their reoccurring foe is pushing Glimmer to a place where she seems much less reticent to be violent. He's not sure how to approach this. The moral line about not acting like the enemy feels empty now.

She stays quiet for the rest of their walk, although he tries some conversational prompts. She has to teleport him past a couple boulders blocking the path, but besides that, it’s a thankfully uneventful trip to Dryl.

As they walk into the secluded kingdom, Bow finds himself surprised by the amount of people that bustle around the market place they pass through. While the entire area, from the ground to the buildings around them seem to be a drab metallic grey, the civilians are still have the same energy of any of the others places he’s seen.

Two robots appear at their side from seemingly nowhere. “Princess Entrapta requests your presence.” The voice is flat, lacking any intonation, but he’s too busy staring at the machinations in awe. He tinkers with his trick arrows, sure. He’s had the design for a sonic arrow that he hasn’t been able to make because of the recent defeats. But to meet someone who could create something like this… well, it’s a dream.

Glimmer looks tense, though. As the robots guide them through the labyrinthine corridors, she seems as rigid as a statue, hands still bunched into tight fists. As they go deeper and deeper into the castle (he thinks. Attempting to determine what direction they're going is impossible), she only relaxes when the doors to Entrapta’s sanctum slide open to reveal the pink-haired princess.

The robots roll away, and Bow steps into the crowded room. “Crowded” is the only way he can describe it, with machinery scattered around the room and a tool bench that seems to take up half the area. It’s not messy per say; there’s clearly a system she has. He just can’t figure out what the heck it might be.

“Princess Entrapta,” Glimmer says, attempting to be more friendly than she feels and only half-succeeding. The princess is sitting on a raised cushion of her own hair, using individual strands to manipulate an army of welders, laser cutters, and wrenches to do _something_ to a small object. She doesn’t respond.

Bow walks forward, glancing over the princess’s shoulder. “Is that a digital matrix sub-magical connecter?” The hair pauses, and her actual hand reaches up to lift the mask that covers her face.

“I don’t know who you are but yes!” The enthusiasm makes him jolt. “I’m interfacing it with First Ones Tech! It should allow me extract intact code from this disk, the most-”

“I’m Princess Glimmer, of Brightmoon.” Glimmer teleports in front of her, arms crossed. “We’re here on an aid request, remember?” Her tone is blunt and he motions for her to cut it out, but she glares at him and soldiers on.

“We need resources. Weapons, preferably, which your kingdom can supply with your extensive mining operations. In return, Brightmoon will pay handsomely.” She sounds more and more annoyed as she lists through the talking points, as if all the anger of this war is going to be dumped right here onto Entrapta’s lap.

“Anyway, we want to trade! Haha…” He butts in, preventing Glimmer from ranting further. Entrapta barely looks phased, and he wipes away a bead of sweat in relief. “We could use a lot of the amazing tech y-your kingdom produces against the Horde.”

“Oh yeah, sure, that’s fine.” A strand of Entrapta’s hair reaches out to a computer console to type something into it. “My robots are so helpful! Anyway, I’m working on this disc-”

“Please!” Bow looks over to see Glimmer yell, tears building in her eyes. “Can you just focus on the war effort? I-I know it’s selfish and I’ve been rude to you and I’ve screwed up all of my missions, but I need you to… to…. I don’t know develop _something_ for us!”

Entrapta drops the disk. She stares with wide eyes at her fellow princess. Anger seemingly spills over through Glimmer’s misery. “I need you to _care_, damn it! There’s a war going on, and you’re sitting up here making _toys_!”

This as much as Bow can stomach before he wraps his arms around his friend.

“Glimmer, _none _of this is your fault,” he insists, looking into her wet eyes. “Things have been difficult, but we’re fighting a hard fight. We can win, and we _will_. But insulting her won’t help.”

Behind him, he can hear the mask slip back over Entrapta’s face, and in his periphery he can see her use her hair to prop herself up. “I’ll get to work,” the princess mutters, but it’s a cold and monotone statement. He supposes it’s the best he can hope for, given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Glimmer sniffs, but Bow doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the other princess is gone.

* * *

“Smell that salty air!” Scorpia bellows from the deck of the warship. Next to her, Adora shakes her head but lets out a little whoop nonetheless. Behind her, she can hear Lonnie yelling for Kyle not to mess with the deck turret, something she chooses to ignore.

The scene is picturesque. Five warships, fresh off of the new Plumerian factory complexes, slicing through the crystal-clear water. The sun was warm, and a light breeze sent her ponytail flapping behind her head like a flag. These were newly-built boats, designed specifically for one thing: blowing down the Salineas Sea-Gate and conquering the coastal kingdom.

Shadow Weaver had been delighted to hear her theory involving what the spell-caster referred to as rune stones. “Adora,” she had purred, “I’m so proud you were able to make such a connection. Your recognition of such a thing will improve your already-considerable strategies.” The praise had electrified her, to the point where she would have done anything for more. Shadow Weaver was such a loving person; to _know_ that she was cared for causes her to shudder with delight.

The sorceress hadn’t been as happy with the reported death of Perfuma. And sure, Adora had been insulted, maybe even slapped around a little by the person who’d just been heaping praise upon her. Really, she deserved it. Force Captains don’t make mistakes like that. Such mistakes deserve punishment.

She startles, pulling herself out of her own head. There’s this tingle under her skin, an anger that prickles. “Kyle!” she screams, frightening Scorpia, “go clean the weapon!”

“The wuh…?” Kyle asked, cocking his head to the side, and Adora hates that his confusion is superseding his fear of her. “The damn weapon! The thing Shadow Weaver specifically made for this mission!” She grabs his collar, only to shove him away. “Move, idiot.”

The boy stumbles away, Lonnie following, but not before the girl gives her a very perplexed look. Adora feels like crap now, and that rage is gone, leaving her empty. Why would she _want _to hurt someone? It’s a scary feeling, and she swallows heavily as she looks back out at the horizon.

“So, uh, what are your orders?” Scorpia’s voice makes its way into her ears, the normally boisterous women sounding diminutive. Her first instinct is to remark that they have the same rank, why would she give orders to her? Scorpia’s face tells a different story.

Finally, Adora coughs out a question. “Are we in range?” In the distance, she can see the faint shimmer of the Sea-gate. After a couple of seconds, she gets the affirmative.

There’s a moment. A single moment, where it feels as if there’s a choice to be made of great importance. She doesn’t know why. No part of what is about to happen is remarkable or significant, expect for the fact that another tyrannical princess is about to be deposed. Really, there's no choice at all.

Adora takes a step forward, squares her shoulders, and slices through the air with her arm. The boom of the deck guns accompany green energy bolts arcing towards the horizon. A couple seconds go by, completely silent as the crew watches. The warships continue to move forward.

Then there’s an explosion, followed by a small shockwave that pitches the boats slightly. Verdant burst of energy burst from the flower of fire that blooms. As the shore gets closer, Adora waves the billowing smoke out of her face, attempting to find the Sea-gate. It takes some time for her to realize that she can’t find the structure because _it’s no longer in existence_. They’d obliterated it completely. A fragmented stone face stares up at her as the remains of the supporting statues sink under the surface of the sea. She sighs softly. This is going to save the Horde a lot of trouble.

She runs to the ramp that is extending to meet the Salinean street, several contingents of troops following. Taking out a stun rod and pausing, she quickly scans the area. The architecture is conical, styled after shells, and the amount of places to hide makes her nervous. They are vulnerable, and a couple of well-placed snipers would wreak havoc. She can feel the troops behind her collectively brace themselves for the counter-attack.

Nothing happens. There’s no alarm, no soldiers running to meet them, no sign of the expected counter-artillery attack or whizzing of bullets. That alone is surprising. What causes her to bark a cancellation to the naval bombardment is the lack of people. There’s no civilians anywhere, dead or alive. It’s unnerving, and her anxiety transfers over to this fact.

“Oh jeez!” Scorpia exclaims some distance away. Following her voice, Adora walks over to where the arachnid force captain is just in time to see Scorpia vomit on the pavement.

“What the…” Scorpia points a claw at a pile of rubble, probably flung off from the gate. Adora’s comment dies in her throat as she sees what made Scorpia react.

It’s a body. The legs have been crushed flat by a large piece of stone, and the upper half of the man is drenched in gore. She suddenly feels dizzy. This is the first time she’d ever seen a corpse. Of course she knew she would eventually have to see one. But the reality of it hits her like a brick. “I-t’s only a body,” she stutters, trying desperately to maintain calm.

Scorpia gives her a look, but stands up, wipes her mouth, and walks forward. Adora does the same, motioning for the troops to follow, and gets promptly flung into the side of a building by a blast of water.

Hauling herself up, she looks to see a figure approaching. “You must be Mermista,” Adora coughs, pointing a stun rod at her. The princess is dark-skinned, with blue hair and a practical outfit covered in a scaled pattern. In Mermista’s hand, a sliver trident is pointed at her.

“You destroyed the gate.” The princess’s face barely changes, but within her voice Adora detects a deep anger. “We did,” she responds, attempting to sound authoritative. “The Horde has come to liberate your kingdom. You may surr-”

A hand made of water smashes down on the troops behind her. “My father didn’t surrender,” Mermista growls. “You think you’ll take away the only thing I have left?” Adora lunges, dodging several blasts of water, but before she can fire the ground rumbles. Cracks appear in the street, water climbing out of them, until the princess is surrounded by dozens of watery tendrils.

“You’re pathetic,” Mermista sneers, then throws her hand forward. Water shoots forwards. Adora hunches on the ground, guarding her face as the blasts slam into her already-soaked, retreating troops. She doesn’t look to see what becomes of them, hearing several screams, but fumbles with her force captain pin.

“Start firing on the city, now! And start charging up the weapon!” She screams into the com, rolling to avoid the trident that was flung in her direction. Scorpia yells something only to be thrown out of view.

“But ma’am, your forces are still-”

“Do you _want_ an angry, hydrokinetic princess attacking you? While you’re on a _boat_? Start shooting and prime the weapon, asshole!”

While Mermista goes after her troops, she takes the stun baton and breaks it over her knee, pulling out the battery from the bottom half. It won’t do any serious damage, but it’ll distract her long enough for Adora to lure her out to open ocean. Oh, she _hates_ this one. At least the plant princess had the dignity to die quickly.

The trident is thrown her way again, Mermista apparently having already mopped up the infantry. She’s not as quick this time, and the trident slams into her right leg, impaling itself in its thigh.

Adora screams. The pain is unbearable, so much more than any other injury she’s ever had. She falls over, still howling in agony, as the princess storms over.

“I should have put this through your throat. But I won’t. Count yourself lucky my father succumbed to the wounds you _wretches_ gave him. He would never have shown such mercy.” Placing a boot on Adora’s knee, the princess rips the trident out of her leg. Blood oozes out of the wound. Adora grits her teeth, then throws the battery at Mermista’s head.

The fragile circuitry is easily destroyed as it collides with the princess’s shoulder, releasing a small burst of energy that zaps Mermista. Adora is already limping towards the water by the time the shocks dissipate. As she desperately tries to wrap a scrap ripped from her pant leg around the wound, the shadow of Mermista fall on her.

“You conniving bi-” The princess’s snarl is cut off by a series of explosions. The buildings crumble behind her as the warships fire into the city. Adora grits her teeth as she ties the makeshift bandage. The idiots were far too late. Building factories would be easier without all that ridiculous architecture, at least. The thought didn’t console her in the slightest.

It’s then that Mermista’s boot collides with her stomach. “Monster!” Adora can’t breathe, and she flops back into the sand grunting for air. The princess dives into the sea.

“Fire t-the weapon!” she gasps into the com once air rushes into her lungs. She looks out at the warships, just in time to see one get tipped over, dropping its crew into the sea. “We need coordinates for the rune stone!” the captain protests through her badge.

She pauses for a second to think. Perfuma’s stone was in that massive tree that functioned as the center of the kingdom. Would Mermista’s be under the sea? Unlikely. That would make it hard to guard and keep track of. It would probably be in the palace. But that location might be too obvious to hold something of that value in.

A split-second decision is made. “Aim for the palace!” she insists, watching helplessly as spouts of water punch through another ship’s hull. The crew of the previous ship desperately try to swim to the shore, but one by one they get pulled under the surface. With bated breath, she watches the warships.

With no warning, a beam of purple light explodes out of the fifth ship. It’s almost jagged, in the way it crackles through the air. It strikes something behind her, and there’s a sound like a buzz saw on stone. The ship that it was fired from spontaneously bursts into flames, harsh and violet.

Shadow Weaver had spent several days preparing the weapon. Adora knew she was a sorceress with powers unrelated to the Black Garnet, but she had no idea the true magnitude of the women’s abilities. It had required stripping an entire ship of all its weaponry, redirecting every spare bit of power through conduits specifically designed to create magical energy of Shadow Weaver’s type. By the end of the prep period, the sorceress had looked emaciated, and implied that doing such a process again would just kill her, making the weapon one-of-a-kind. It fired from some sort of parabolic dish, but magic had always been too weird for Adora to try to understand. All she knows was it needed to hit close to the rune stone.

The effects were immediate. Pillars of water that had been attacking the other ships fall back into the sea. Suddenly, Mermista surfaces close to shore. Adora limps towards the princess, prepared to attack, but she stops as she gets closer to her. The princess’s skin is covered in odd symbols, glowing marks that remind her of a computer chip’s internal workings.

Mermista is obviously in pain. Her teeth are gritted, legs and arms flailing in the sand. Adora lets out a little sigh of relief. Finally, this was over. Salineas was theirs. The princess goes silent, the marks disappear, and her eyes roll into her head. Adora puts two fingers on her wrist. Alive, but seemingly unresponsive.

“Mermista!” The scream echoes through the bay. She looks up to see a small boat coming in fast. She stands up, only to fall back over as someone lands a flying kick to her injured leg. Through the gasps of pain, she can see a tall, mustachioed man run to the keeled over women. He looked like a child’s idea of a pirate.

“G-get out of here, c-clown,” she spits out, pain still distorting her voice. “The Horde o-owns this land now.” In an instant, a pale yellow saber is being pointed at her. She can’t help but roll her eyes. This idiot _clearly_ has no idea how to kill someone.

The man’s glare is interrupted by an explosion above them. “Damn warships.” he mutters, sending her another nasty look, before slinging Mermista over his shoulder and sprinting towards his boat. “You scallywags are lucky I need my boat!”

Adora watches them sail away, the deck guns of the remaining two ships being too slow to follow the small craft’s path. She flops back in the warm sand, listening to the roar of the fire that seems to be consuming the city behind her. Her breaths shudder as they leave her body. Her vision seems to be going dark. “Blood loss…,” she giggles. Her thoughts are cheerful in spite of the pain. Another kingdom liberated. Shadow Weaver will be proud. Another damned princess taken care of.

And for once, she hardly cares that she might have killed someone. The last thought she has before everything goes black is that at least dead princesses don't come back to haunt you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is another major departure from canon: The Battle of Brightmoon comes early. There's a major change in the Horde's power structure. Stay tuned, folks.


	4. Rome is Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This one took a bit, but this chapter currently has some of the bigger changes to to canon characters and the plot. We're going into completely new territory here. Shadow Weaver, riding high after recent victories, decides to make a drastic move. And the Horde come to Brightmoon early, and Glimmer experiences the full reality of what a war actually is. There's quite a bit of self-hatred and violence in this one, just as a warning.

Magic is a tricky thing. The fools at Mysticor always talked about it as if it were a skill to be learned. They’d compare magic to riding a bike. Light Spinner had been one of those fools. But Shadow Weaver knows better. Magic is a fierce beast, one that needs to be cowed into submission. She has spent decades bending the Black Garnet’s power to her will, harnessing every little bit of magic.

Now, she has a second rune stone. The pathetic water princess hadn’t even bothered to hide it, instead foolishly displaying the damned thing like some bauble. Did the little idiot even know what it was?

She could’ve had a third. But Adora not only let the Plumerian one get taken into rebel custody, but incinerated the princess as well. She might have been able to interrogate, brainwash, or at least dissect Perfuma, in some attempt to replicate her magic. With Perfuma as a pile of ash, however, nothing useful is to be done. She made sure to _punish_ Adora for that slip-up.

She watches as the building crew welds plates of metal to the frame of her expanded sanctum, the cerulean sphere sitting in the center. She’s already gone through the preliminary phases of attaching the proper wiring to the stone, making sure to chip off a piece and embed it in her mask. Once the expansion is done, she’ll fully be able to tap into its power. In the next couple of hours, however, Shadow Weaver will have the perfect opportunity to do a little test run.

Glancing towards the screens that adorn the chamber’s walls, she flicks her head to the side. Crimson lightening streaks through the air, causing them to explode outwards in a shower of glass. The workers pause to stare at her.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” she sneers, reveling in the way they all flinch. As they get back to work, the door behind her opens.

“Ma’am, the soldiers are ready.”

“Acknowledged, Force Captain Octavia.” She whirls around, making sure to lean over the warrior to force her to look up. Best to keep your subordinates intimidated. “And exactly how much support do we have among the common troops?”

“A-almost all the barracks v-volunteered to be a part of the mission” Octavia lets out a strained chuckle. “We actually had to turn a lot of people down. We can’t have the entire Fright Zone turning up in Hordak’s lab…”

The sorcerer straightens, letting out a barely audible sigh. Of course, she could’ve dealt with Hordak herself. He’s weak. Her shadow spies allow her to see his spasms. She knows that his armor is just a life-support suit. And she knows about his feeble obsession with the portal. But a mass movement, orchestrated to look like it came from the bottom of the hierarchy, is sure to dissuade any Hordak loyalists.

“Hordak is a weak link.” Her voice booms through the contained space, causing Octavia to shrink back. “While he sits fiddling with his broken toys, our armies are attempting to overthrow the tyranny of the monarchs that rule outside our doorstep!” It doesn’t hurt to pepper her speech with propaganda. “An absentee leader is one that deserves doesn’t deserve to rule.”

The proclamation echoes around them. It carries such finality that Octavia actually salutes her, the builders following suite. Shadow Weaver has to suppress a laugh. Power is truly amazing.

“And Adora is still on the front?”

The force captain nods. “She was injured in the initial conquest of the Salinean capital. She’s at a makeshift hospital. Force Captain Scorpia has taken over the industrialization process.”

“Good.” She holds her palms against the Black Garnet, forcing the magic to travel into her. Her hands are still crackling with energy as she floats out of the room, Octavia following. In the hallway, at least a hundred soldiers are standing at attention. Each is armed with a stun baton. The sight of troops waiting for her command allows for the corners of her lips to be pulled into a small smirk under her mask.

Shadow Weaver doesn’t bother to bark out a command. She just turns and begins to make her way to Hordak’s lair. The sound of dozens of obedient soldiers following, footsteps acting like a drumbeat, turns her grin into a toothy smile only she knows about.

It feels like in the blink of an eye, they’re at the doors to the laboratory. Hordak’s little creature, a grotesque parody of his likeness, hisses at her from its position in the vents above them. She pauses, the troops behind her taking a final step before becoming still.

Then a shadowy hand bursts from her chest, lunging upwards. There’s a brief struggle, as the creature tries to squirm away in panic. It’s all in vain. The inky limb drops down, it’s dark fingers wrapped around the thing. It’s clearly panicking, thrashing against the magic in a futile display of resistence.

Shadow Weaver looks at the thing, bringing her mask close to it. Without flinching, she reaches forward and wraps ashen fingers around its throat. Small clawed hands try desperately to wrench her off to no avail.

Barely looking up, she creates a wave of blackness, red energy arcing within it, and blows open the doors to Hordak’s sanctum. The sound of metal crunching overshadows the creature’s last breath. Both her real and shadow hand let go, and the thing’s body flops to the floor with a thud. She kicks it aside as she glides into once-forbidden territory.

Through the dim light, she sees Hordak whirl around in surprise. Red eyes go wide at first, then narrow in anger.

“Lord Hordak!” she cries dramatically. “We finally get to see your face. My, my, how it’s been so long.”

“What is the purpose of this nonsense?” he growls, stepping over the remains of the door.

“Our armies are the most successful they’ve ever been, and yet you lock yourself away trying to build your silly little portal.” She moves forward a little, allowing soldiers to rush into the room and surround him. “You could be developing technology, helping our engineers in perfecting this war machine.” She looks at Hordak, head cocked to the side.

“You haven’t exactly been much of a _lord_, have you?”

“How _dare_ you question me? I built this empire from nothing!” He bares his teeth, slicing his hand through the air like a knife. “You are below me, you incompetent, parasitic fool!”

The sorceress can’t help but chuckle. She’ll make him hurt for that. “What is a strongman without his pawns to push around?” she sneers, letting shadows swirl around the room, and for just a second Hordak looks scared.

“Seize him.” In an instant, a flurry of green energy collides with Hordak, followed by soldiers rushing him. Shadow Weaver stands back, watching the scene. As secretly weak as he might be, the man’s determination is inexhaustible. As bodies try to pile up on him, jabbing him with stun rods, Hordak roars and starts grabbing people. Several necks are swiftly broken, arms and legs snapped, and soon he’s surrounded by the mangled bodies of dozens of either dead or severely injured. He’s obviously in pain, unable to move anywhere as his suit’s circuitry fries. Yet any person in Hordak’s reach ends up mangled or crushed.

The remaining soldiers back away, still firing an occasional stun blast. “I’ll rip you- hgnnnn!” Hordak lets out a ragged groan of pain. “…rip you all to shreds!”

With the flick of her hand Shadow Weaver sends a spike of darkness through him, listening to the animalistic yells of pain as the scarlet energy burns him. “You are _pitiful_!” She screams at him, surrounding them both in a sphere of blackness. “Nothing more than a weak figurehead!” She flicks her head to the side, and shadowy restraints force Hordak’s arms to the floor.

“It’s almost comical. You gave an underling more power than even _you _have!” Grabbing his chin, the sorceress forces Hordak to look at her. “I could kill you right now.”

Shadow Weaver lets go and focuses, exerting her will over the newly added blue stone in her mask. The Black Garnet’s power was easy to subjugate. It had been weak from disuse, Scorpia’s feeble family failing to appreciate the tool they had. Mermista’s stone, by contrast, was used heavily by the princess. It’s magic is lively, chaotic like the sea it controls. But she is able to latch on to it, forcing the energy through her hands.

Hordak flinches back as electrified water, murky and laced with crimson energy, springs from her fingers, twisting around the room like a serpent “I could fill your lungs and sear the flesh from your bones!” She yells, dousing him in water up to his neck. He writhes futilely within the energized aqueous grasp.

Then she lets it fall. “But I won’t,” she sneers, dissipating the water with a wave of her hand. “You’ve been bested by a _lackey_.” Despite the agony he’s clearly in, Hordak manages to bear his teeth and growl.

“I-I will never bow to the likes of y-you!” She snorts a little. Is he actually still _posturing_? Does he not understand that he’s in no position to do much of anything?

“You won’t have to.” She motions to the soldiers in the room. “Take him to Beast Island. Strip him of his armor.” Shadow Weaver turns to exit the room, then hesitates for a second, pale eyes squinting at the sight of the circle of corpses. “And clean this damn mess up.”

As she floats through the halls, she can here the troops celebrating in their barracks. Calls of loyalty are made to _her_ name. It sends a thrilling sort of shiver up her spine. She should be going straight to the war room. The supply chain to the newly-taken Salinean land was going strong, fueling the massive wave of infantry that were conquering the surrounding population centers. The next wave of factory construction in the newly-defoliated Plumerian territory needs to be approved. Most importantly of all, the over-abundance of new resources allows for a newly constructed navy, nearly twice the size of the one that attacked the capital city. Brightmoon is within their grasp.

But for all that she has to do, Shadow Weaver instead floats to the throne room. Ascending the stairs, she slowly lets herself down into the seat of power. A thought blazes through her mind, so suddenly that it almost surprises her with its intensity.

As long as she lives, she will _never _allow this to be taken from her.

* * *

It’s right after they bring back Entrapta’s first shipment of weapons that Glimmer and Bow learn about Salineas.

More specifically, it’s when a guard runs up to meet them as they approach the castle’s entrance. The soldier takes a moment to recover her breath, than snaps to attention. “Princess!”

“At ease,” Glimmer says, eyebrow rising in confusion. Bow has the same look on his face. “What’s the matter?”

“We need to prepare for invasion.” The sentence takes the air out of her lungs. “_Invasion?_” Bow squeaks as the guard shepherds them and their cargo into the castle. “How is that possible? The Whispering Woods-”

“The Horde is coming from the sea.” The guard replies frankly. Glimmer doesn’t even have time to process the implications of that sentence as she watches soldiers running through the halls, the incoming threat inspiring chaos. “The council of generals is ordering a lockdown of the kingdom. We’re lucky that the capital will be hit first. It’s made evacuation of civilians easy.”

Her anxiety is just ratcheting up more and more, and she has to force herself to be analytical. She can’t have a goddamn breakdown right now, on the eve of direct conflict. “W-wait, there are no civilians in the castle!”

But the guard has already moved on, whistling to a group of soldiers who then take their weapons shipment to what Glimmer presumes is the armory. Bow lays his hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through this.”

Something cracks within her at hearing this. How does he know? How the _hell_ can he be so confident? She almost wants to get angry. But a wave of guilt extinguishes it quickly. This was all her fault. With Angella out of commission, it’s her responsibility to maintain the war effort. And now all they’ve done is lose. They probably all blame her anyway. She’s just an inexperienced little girl.

“Glitter!” Bow’s hand jolts of off her as a mustachioed man shoves his way through the soldiers. “Princess Glitter! I was told to find you.” He’s tall, with a sort of roguish charm, and yet clearly exhausted. “Uh… who are you?” Bow queries, but the man ignores him, grabbing Glimmer’s arm and dragging her down the hall. “Meet up with the generals! Help with the front lines!” she yells back, and then her view of Bow is gone as she gets shoved into a room.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps, hands lighting up with pink energy. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey! I’m Sea Hawk.” His head leans forward, eyes wide, as if this name is supposed to means something to her. After several awkward seconds, he sighs, relaxes his face, and turns towards the interior of the room.

“The medic said you might know something about what happened.” His expression falls. “To see if she could get better.”

“What is…” she trails off as she sees the room for the first time. It’s empty of everything minus a bed. Its occupant is completely still. She makes her way over to the bedside, then freezes.

It’s Mermista. Glimmer’s never seen her, but the dark teal hair and the scaly outfit give away the princesses’ identity. Her normally chestnut skin looks almost grey, and her entire body is covered in purple symbols that give off a slight glow. Her eyes are a milky white, and when Glimmer presses two fingers to her wrist, Mermista’s pulse is so slow that it takes nearly a minute for her to feel a beat. All the while, Sea Hawk looks over her shoulder, reeking of desperation.

“I… I don’t know w-what you want me to do,” Glimmer mutters, a tear in her eye. One princess is dead, another looks like she’s dying. “What _happened_?”

“When the Horde took Salineas, they used-”

“Hold on, what?” Glimmer stumbles back, catching herself on Mermista’s bed. “N-no, no, no!” It all makes sense. The Horde coming from the sea, the evacuation of civilians who she now realizes were _Salinean_, and now Mermista being comatose… they’re pretty much screwed, aren’t they?

Her realization is punctuated with an explosion that shakes the whole castle. “I-I have to go!” Glimmer yells, Sea Hawk turning just in time to see her disappear. She teleports to the top of the cliff that overlooks the coast, just in time to watch a bolt of green slam into the castle. An alarm is blaring, and soldiers are rushing to establish a front. Bow is down there, barking orders, and it’s the most serious she’s ever seen him.

Turning her head, she then sees what they’re going up against. Nine battleships, massive in size with guns to match. As she watches, dozens of smaller crafts stream towards the shore. _This is it_, she thinks, _the moment where we either drive them back or get crushed_.

Glimmer teleports to where she sees the gathering of generals. Netossa is arguing with Bow, the other leaders watching nervously. “Guys!” she yells, interrupting whatever feud was being played out. The council stands at attention briefly. “What’s the plan?”

Netossa takes a moment to glare at Bow before speaking. “Based on size estimates from the scouts, around thirty to forty soldiers per transport.”

She does a quick mental calculation. “With twenty to twenty-five transports…”

“Anywhere from six hundred to a thousand enemy combatants,” Spinnerella finishes, looking solemn. “We don’t have anywhere near a thousand soldiers!”

“And this is why we need forcible conscription! By relying on other kingdoms, we’ve left ourselves unprepared! We have maybe two hundred fifty infantry here, and that’s not enough! We don’t even have artillery close to the castle!” Netossa protests, throwing her hands up in the air.

Bow immediately jumps into the conversation. “We can’t force civilians to fight! We have refugees with close to nothing, and normal people with no idea how to hold a spear, let alone fight off a robot that shoots lasers!”

Glimmer pinches her forehead. The squabbling turns into a droning buzz that causes her head to ache. “Shut up!” she screams, and everyone falls silent. “We need civilians to fight.” Bow opens his mouth to say something, but she quiets him with a glare. “As much as I dislike the idea of throwing people in a meat grinder, _we have no choice_. Get the artillery here as fast as possible, but don’t rely on it. Have the best trained guards take the Drylian weapons, and get them to a high point; the cliffs, preferably. Evacuate the castle staff. And someone get the Queen to safety.” She takes a breath. “Go on, get to it!”

The generals scramble, barking off orders. Bow storms off towards the front, ignoring Glimmer as she motions Netossa and Spinnerella to stay. “You two need to target the landing craft. Even if we manage to beat back the land invasion, it means nothing if they can just turn around and get more. I’ll handle the battleships.” They nod. She runs a hand through her sweat-matted hair, then teleports to the Moonstone.

Despite the periodic explosions that shake the castle’s foundations, the floating gem stays completely still. Glimmer always felt this thing had a mind of its own. She presses her hands to it, feeling the smooth surface that always seems to vibrate with power unimaginable. “Please,” she begs, teeth gritting, “just work with me for once.” She begins to absorb magical energy, channeling it through her hands. The Moonstone’s power always feels soothing, like silk on skin. Recharging is usually easy. She can feel herself reaching her natural limit. But is that really enough? It’s hardly a limit; more of a natural _deficiency_, really. A loss. Something she’s never bothered to try and push. _I’m really just a failure in every sense, aren’t I?_

The mix of anger and self-hatred mix potently, and she forces herself to pull even more energy from the Moonstone. She starts screaming. Damn, it _hurts_. It’s more sandpaper than silk now, and the prickles of pain that besiege her body force out tears. Finally, she literally cannot take it anymore. The princess rips her hands away, breathing so rapidly her chest hurts. The edges of her vision are tinted purple, causing her to look down at her hands. _Holy shit, I’m glowing_. The pain that assaults her brings a sort of energized clarity. She doesn’t think she’s ever had this much power before.

The teleport almost takes her by surprise with how instinctive it is. She’s now on the beach, Netossa and Spinerella behind her, and they look about as startled as she is at her current state. She ignores the way concern takes over their features and whirls around to face the water.

The Horde landing crafts are crude. They’re basically hollow rectangles with a large door, it seems. Pure utility, and exactly what she expects from them. At least six of them have already landed, masses of soldiers and robots streaming up the shore. Glimmer’s vision goes red. Of course it’s come to this. Two kingdoms lost, and now Brightmoon is on the chopping block. Her body is vibrating with anger, with power, with emotions that are too messy to deal with. And as much as she wants to _incinerate_ the people in front of her, she has to deal with the warships. The guns have gone silent, the Horde navy seeming to realize that blowing up an empty castle would be pointless. Maybe they’ll start firing again, and she and Bow and everyone else will turn to ash. Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst.

But her anger is too strong, body too energized to give in right now. As her own soldiers begin firing Entrapta’s lasers at the advancing forces, as the princesses behind begin hurling nets and tornadoes at the landing craft that keep coming, Glimmer clenches her shaking fists and teleports to the warship closest to her.

The crewman she appears next to barely has a chance to react before a blast of pink energy sets his armor aflame. She ignores the panicked screams of his compatriots, focusing on the ship beneath her. As her body spasms with energy, Glimmer redirects it through her feet.

There’s a blinding flash, and suddenly she has to teleport to avoid falling into the hole she’s created. Judging by the suddenly clear noise of the ocean, she guesses that she penetrated straight through the decks _and_ external armor. She hardly gives it a thought before teleporting to where she sees gunners trying to aim for her.

The first gunner gets a sparkling fist to her face and goes flying back as Glimmer turns the newly bloodied fist onto the second one. “No, wait, please!” he cries, stumbling away from the turret, but she tackles him from the waist, holding an energized fist to his face as he sweats.

“Show me how to operate this gun, and I won’t burn your face off.” The threat comes out of nowhere, anger surging like the tide. A small part of her is concerned about how violent this rage is causing her to be. The rest of her revels in the ability to channel the fury into fighting.

“Y-you just pu-pull the lev-” That’s all she needs to hear before throwing the man overboard. She's aware that the ship is slowly filling with water, but she’ll be damned is she won’t make use of its weapons before it sinks.

Glimmer pushes the cannon into place, aiming it at the warship that seems to be moving to fire upon her troops. There’s no hesitation as she yanks on the lever. There’s a large thud, and she watches as the bolt of green screams across the water. Then the bow explodes, sending fire and metal flying to the tune of the crew’s panic. She takes a content moment to watch as the front of the boat, filling with water, begins to sink. Horde soldiers rush to the stern, each one leaping off into the sea rather than risking getting sucked down with the ship. Glimmer conjures up a couple magic projectiles, flinging them at the soldiers as they desperately tread water. She doesn’t bother to check if she hit anyone.

She channels another, but lesser, burst of energy, and the deck she’s on lights up in flames. Normally, she’d be on the floor in exhaustion after all this. Lying down is inconceivable to her right now. And when she spots a blond ponytail flapping in the wind on another ship, her thoughts turn to turn to pure _hatred_. 

Glimmer lets out a hellish scream as she teleports, thrusting an energized fist into an uppercut. The crack of her knuckles colliding with Adora’s jaw is deafening. The Horde soldier stumbles back snarling, but she’s already appeared behind the two soldiers guarding the blonde. A pulse of pink through the duo makes them fall to the floor in convulsions. Adora lunges for her, but she’s already a foot away, firing a burst of magic that the force captain narrowly dodges with a messy roll.

“So, _princess_,” Adora sneers, wiping blood from her mouth with the flick of a thumb, “You’ve actually suffered enough brain damage to think you can take on our fleet alone.” Glimmer can feel her eye twitch at this. “You couldn’t be content with being a brainwashed freak, could you?” She teleports again, dodging a grab to knee the women in the groin and takes a bit of satisfaction at the pained groan that escapes her opponent’s mouth.

“You had to add _snark_.” She sends a kick to Adora’s head to emphasize the point, scuffing the side of the blonde’s face as she dodges her leg. The force captain reaches for the stun rod on her belt, but Glimmer teleports behind her, grabbing the rod out of her belt while plunging a foot into the blonde’s side. A gasp of pain leaks into the air. Glimmer points the rod at her hunched over opponent.

“You know, maybe you Horde _slime_ got something right.” Adora’s face is stony, but in her eyes, there’s the slightest waver. The thrill that rushes through her, knowing that the ferocious soldier is on the ground in front of her, trying not to _cower_, is overwhelming. “You never go half way!” In one swift motion, she jams the stun rod into the force captain’s leg, fires the device, and then lets loose a burst of magical energy to accompany it.

Adora _screams_. It’s not like anything she’s ever heard. The sound rips through the air, jagged and raw as purple and green energy surge through her body. The rush is gone, sucked out of her as the sight in front of her sears itself in her mind. Just as her clothes begin to smoke, the energy subsides, leaving Adora raggedly panting.

Glimmer takes a step back, but the blonde doesn’t get up. Blue pupils flit around wildly before focusing on the princess. And all she can see in those eyes is raw _hatred_.

Awareness of the rest of the world suddenly comes flooding back, and she turns to run to the deck gun. She only manages to take a step before Adora coughs loudly. “I s-swear, G-glimmer.” She jolts a little. The sound of her name coming from the soldier sends a shiver down her spine. “When y-your _pathetic_ k-kingdom falls, I’ll be the one t-to do it.” There’s nothing in her voice but a determination that feels like the verbal equivalent of getting hit with a brick. 

She allows her expression to harden, before teleporting to the turret above her. The next ten minutes are a blur. She knows that she starts firing, and she knows that other ships stopped bombarding the coast to return fire. It’s fuzzy, but by the time her head is clear, she’s on the sand, watching what remains of the Horde navy limp off into the horizon and bound for their Salinean territory. The remains of landing craft sit in the bay, thick bellows of smoke pouring into the air.

Glimmer pivots quickly, sprinting up the beach and weaving through the sparking wreckage of the robots that had failed to advance. It’s only when the sand stops that the bodies start. At first it’s just Horde soldiers, charred from Entrapta’s weapons striking them head on. She pauses for a moment to look up to the clifftop, but sees no one. Did they get eliminated by artillery? A barrage from the bots? Or had they just left to get closer to the fight?

Questions abound, she continues her run to where the front line was supposed to be, and _now _she finally hears the sounds of a battle. Those clangs and screams and yells only make the sight of dead Brightmoon soldiers more disturbing. Vomit builds in her throat, and she hunches over to cough it up. An image of Adora screaming worms its way into her mind, but she’s determined to ignore as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the remains of her sparse breakfast off her chin.

Focusing a little, the princess teleports as close to the castle as she can picture. Next thing she knows, she’s back-first in the shallow pool that surrounds the building. As she sits up, she hears a scream.

Netossa is on the ground, clearly unconscious as blood oozes out of a gash on her forehead. Meanwhile, Spinerella is fighting four soldiers, but she’s also on the ground, clearly exhausted. An attempt to summon a burst of wind results in one of them driving her heel down on Spinerella’s wrist, accompanied by a sickening crunch. Any exhaustion she feels vanishes, but right before she can teleport, the soldier whips out a knife and slashes.

Glimmer doesn’t see if the soldier makes contact with anything, but as she appears next to the group, she doesn’t hesitate to unleash a searing blast of energy. Three go down, and the women with the knife stumbles back.

“Spinerella, are you-” Her own scream cuts off the sentence. The side of the princess’s face is ripped open, a rough gouge that goes right through her left eye. Spinerella’s saying something, but she can barely hear _anything_ over her own quick breathes. She has to suppress the urge to throw up again.

There’s someone touching her, and instinctively she lashes out with a fist. It’s one of those instantaneous reactions, that every person is prone to under an immense amount of stress, trauma, and caught in the middle of a battle that had escalated so far beyond what she could’ve ever imagined. And when the scene will play through her head over and over, long after this battle, she’ll never really figure out what happened. Maybe all those factors made it so her powers didn’t quite work right. Maybe she knew exactly who was behind her, and all her inhibitions had finally keeled over.

There’s a jolt, like she’s been kicked forward, than a spray of red that explodes across her face. Something falls on top of her, and Glimmer flails as it slumps off to the side. Finally, she’s able to stand up anfuse her pointer finger and thumb to wipe the slime from her eyes.

“C-come here, G…Glimmer,” Spinerella stutters, “l-l-look here.” She’s cradling her injured wife in one arm, a strip of blood-soaked fabric squeezed around the eviscerated eye, yet she’s still reaching out to Glimmer. But the princess is too frantic, heart beating as fast as she’s ever felt, as she whirls around to figure out what the hell happened.

She has trouble figuring out what it is at first. It looks like a smashed watermelon, speckled with chunks of white. It’s when she sees a headless body, the sharp wings of the Horde emblazoned on its back, that the realization surges into her mind with such power that she falls over backwards. “That’s… that’s a _head_.” The mumbling doesn’t even feel like it’s her voice. It’s narration over a gruesome scene that stands before her.

_I’ve punched through someone’s head._

It almost feels like she’s not really here, the world having the fuzzy resolution of a dream. She’s killed someone. Taken a life. With her own _hands_. She looks down at her arm, and there’s _nothing_. It’s as clean as it was before, the magical energy probably burning away all the gore.

Her own deep inhales and exhales are the only thing she hears for what feels like an eternity. Her eyes never stray from the remains. It’s only after Bow appears in front of her that the world comes back into focus. “Glimmer!” His voice penetrates the haze she’s in.

“T-this wasn’t supposed to h-happen.”

“What do you- we drove them back. We beat the Horde…” Bow stands up from his squat, wiping a bruised hand down a face drenched in sweat. “We lost almost the entire Brightmoon reserve.”

The fact barely makes a dent in her psyche. After all that anger and Adora and- and _this_, she honestly doesn’t think anything can shock her anymore. And even in victory, somehow it works out to be a pyrrhic one. Glimmer doesn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. The only thing she’s capable of, in this moment, is _hating_ herself.

Bow helps her up, speechless, and they limp towards the partially burning castle. Every time she steps over or passes a dead soldier dressed in her own kingdom’s regalia, another layer of guilt cements itself in her thoughts. “It’s not your fault.” Bow reads her thoughts, still looking straight ahead. She tilts her head down and says nothing.

Images of the Force Captain’s leg and the soldier’s head and corpses of Brightmoon guards saturate her mind. “This wasn’t supposed happen.” It’s less of an opinion, more a fact. She had no misgivings that war could be brutal. The escalation of it all seems completely incompatible to reality as she knows it.

Life seems to end in this moment. It all crashes down, amidst the medics running frantically past her and jets of wind from an limping Spinerella that wipe out castle fires and the haunted civilians who drift around listlessly, still clutching their weapons.

What begins afterwards will almost inevitably be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh. Not a fun ending, eh? Next time around, we get to do some world-building! Shadow Weaver finds leading isn't as smooth as he wants, and takes another big risk. Brightmoon rebuilds with help, and we get a one-time stop at a character who's absence caused all this.


	5. On The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! A WHOLE lot of shit happened in the months I've been gone, including the damn show ending in what I feel is a disappointing manner, but I refuse to end this until I've covered the bases I wanted to. The story got way more popular than I thought it would be, especailly as I haven't updated in a while, so thanks! Hopefully the few folks who stuck around will be happy. I finally had a revelation about how exactly I want Bow, Glimmer, and Adora to develop here, so expect some better character work from now on. Happy reading y'all!

Catra, if asked, would probably describe her life as just barely content.

It’s not all that bad, per say. She’s not being thrust into the front lines to risk her life for the empire, so that’s a plus. Waste management isn’t a hard job, nor is it particularly deadly. Her ration bar portion that are more than she needs, which gives her something to brag about in the break room when she wants to annoy her fellow workers. Over the years, enough cloth scrap has made its way to her section of the Fright Zone for her to make her cot something way more comfortable than it initially was. Their CO was pretty lenient on section 43 as a whole, which was definitively a positive. Everyone’s heard of the nightmare shifts over at 16.

So again, not bad at all. In fact, compared to most Horde subjects, she’s had it pretty easy. But it never that something was wrong. If she thought about it for long enough, it was more that something was _missing_.

It strikes her occasionally, on a particularly slow day or two. That maybe, there’s something more meant for her. That something went wrong in her life, that perhaps she's walking down the wrong path. But she can never pinpoint what.

“Catra! Work in quadrant 4-Alpha needed. Looks like a jam.” The loudspeaker, choppy as ever, shakes her from her thoughts. “On my way over!” she yells back, pulling her scratched but trusty goggles over her eyes. World tinted slightly yellow, she vaults towards the maintenance hatch, just in time to hear the expected the grumbles in response. Her supervisor was a grumpy old Salinean, a man who tolerated her knack for showing off and doing tricks, but only barely. 

As she slips through the hatch, she grabs a pipe and swings upward. The whole area was a twisting network of tunnels, pipes, and circuitry. That was why she was trained in repairs, after all. She’s agile, with a great memory of the intricate pathways and a penchant for squeezing through tight spaces. Catra’s never gotten direct confirmation of this, but she’s pretty sure she’s almost singlehandedly responsible for improving section 43’s efficiency.

She climbs up the shaft, using her claws when there isn’t anything to grab on. In moments like these, squirming and crawling through the tunnels, time seems to slip away. This world, of wires and grease and cramped spaces almost feels like a jungle of sorts. Here, Catra is the master of her own domain. She has absolute control, knows _exactly_ what she’s doing. She supposes this is the contentedness in its purest form.

Finally, she reaches the clogged area of the quadrant. A long piece of fabric has wound its way through the gears that move the compressor, causing a build-up of debris. A chuckle escapes from her lips. She could easily just detach the compressor plate and take it out. It would be a simple removal.

But that’s no fun.

She very deliberately grabs her multi-tool, flips it up in the air, and snatches it with her tail. She’s been practicing using it to do steadily more complex tasks and right about now, deconstructing the compressor sounds just hard enough.

The next twenty minutes are the most fun she’s had in a very long time. The adrenaline rush that leads up to the compressor finally spilling its guts is exhilarating. Catra licks her tail, coiling it to observe the new electrical burn that will either disappear or add to the mosaic of scars. This work wasn’t totally without risk. But that was what made it in any way fun, she ruminates as she runs a clawed hand through her mane. Normally, she’d have tied it back in a messy ponytail. If it got caught in anything, it would certainly be an unpleasant mess to say the least. There was that risk again, the thrill that made this life exciting. Possibly the only excitement she can eke out of what she does.

Curious, she grabs the partially shredded fabric, running it through her fingers. It’s fairly clean, with only a couple stains besmirching it. Pale skin meets blonde hair, surrounded by the massive wings of the Horde… it takes her a minute to figure out that it’s a picture of Adora.

The world grows silent, even the grinding and churning of the machinery around her fading away. There is_significance_ to that name. Well, of course there is.

She’s the Horde’s model soldier, her visage plastered on every poster and banner the Fright Zone has, Adora’s why for the first time in years the entire manual labor wing was getting upgraded barracks. Despite the failed invasion of the ice princess’s realm, Shadow Weaver said in her latest broadcast that they’ve liberated enough territory in the region to set up a pipeline, so fuel and fresh water should be in abundance by next week. Also Adora’s efforts. It’s Adora who is setting up the training programs for the populations recently brought into the Horde. Adora who has nearly tripled their territory. Adora that has brought an influx of every good and material Catra can imagine.

So yeah, pretty damn important.

That’s not _it_, though. The name, the hair, it all seems to fit together in some maddening mental puzzle that was missing a few pieces. An itch she can’t scratch. Catra is certain with every atom of her being that there is something about Adora that she should know. Something important, something that _matters_. She concentrates, trying to dredge up anything about this girl, _anything_!

Nothing comes.

The humming of her environment slowly seeps its way back into her ears, and the moment is gone. She exhales slowly, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. Daydreaming isn’t helpful. It’s a distraction, one that if she does too often, she’ll find herself a little less content.

Catra rebuilds the compressor, more slowly this time. She doesn’t bother to use her tail. Before she leaves the area, however she takes another look at the banner. Blue, hardened eyes stare back at her. One flick of her claws, and the face is gone. She throws it in the nearest incinerator, not bothering to watch the flames consume the last traces of the soldier’s visage.

The technician navigates her way back to the hatch, a little more subdued in her movements. Eventually, she crawls back into the main area. “What took you so long?” her supervisor barks over the intercom, “You gettin' slow?”

Catra scoffs, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue in the general direction of his station. “Nope!” she yells back, “I’m as fast as I’ve ever been.”

“What clogged it this time?”

Adora’s face passes briefly through her mind.

“Nothing too important.”

* * *

Bow doesn’t really sleep anymore.

That’s not exactly true. He knows that logically, he has to be sleeping at some point. He’d be dead if he didn’t. It would also explain the frequent gaps in his memory. But it feels _nothing_ like sleep. Sleep, he’s pretty sure, isn’t supposed to feel like a series of several-hour-long comas. Sleep should make him feel at least somewhat rested.

He can’t remember being this tired. Hell, he can’t remember feeling this energized either. It’s a weird feeling, to be so exhausted that you’re hyper.

“Get out of the way!”

Bow jumps back, narrowly avoiding being slammed into by the largest women he’s ever seen. His mouth opens to apologize, but she’s already moved out of earshot. He runs a heavy hand over his mouth, feeling the stubble that’s quickly accumulated on his previously shaven face. Another sign of the times, he supposes.

The archer stumbles through construction site he’s supposed to be supervising, more aware of the workers this time. Makeshift cranes dot the landscape in front of him, the stench of sweat and dirt mingling in the air.

Ever since the disastrous invasion of Brightmoon, Glimmer had immediately ordered the kingdom into a state of emergency. A mandatory draft had scooped up a significant portion of the kingdom's adult population and thrown them into hastily created training camps. The rest had been designated the emergency workforce, and been sent work on building defenses.

Right now, he’s supposed to be overseeing the creation of a tower, one of five that would be built around the castle. When completed, it would be filled with artillery pieces and gunners, hopefully enough to repel the next army to show up at their doorstep. It was to date, probably the closest any foe of Brightmoon had ever gotten to seizing it. 

He watches as the massive women hoists a couple steel beams over her shoulder. They had payed another visit to Entrapta. Many more things than weapons were needed. Minerals and alloys for one, and as many workers as Dryl could spare.

“Having fun?” Netossa sidles up next to him, a blank expression on her face. She’s been pretty much his only… well, “friend” is a strong word. “The only person who bothers to talks to him on anything more than a situational basis recently” is more accurate, if additionally more of a mouthful.

“Not really. I’ve had to-”

“That was sarcasm.” The princess rolls her eyes. “Jeez kid, lighten up.” Her lips turn upward slightly, then immediately plummet back to the permanent frown thats adorned everyone’s face in recent weeks.

“So… how’s Spinnerella?” It’s not really a great topic to cover, but it’s pretty much the only thing there is to talk about. And even in the hell that Etheria is right now, he can at least try to make conversation.

Her face darkens. “She’s been training with some of the other veterans that suffer from vision impairments. Adapting to the smaller field of sight and such.” The princess coughs uncomfortably. “At least she’ll get a cool eyepatch.”

Bow can feel his mouth curl into the most hesitant, least genuine smile he’s ever made. He’s not a “dark humor” sort of guy. Optimism was his method of pulling through, though granted it’s been harder to do so.

It’s some sort of miraculous coincidence that a messenger appears by his side, out of breath but still going through the effort to snap to attention.

“Commander Bow! The princess requests your presence at once for the purpose of strategy!”

Netossa rolls her eyes. “Duty calls. Have fun dealing with her.”

“Hey, that’s uncalled for! Glimmer’s not that-” She’s already walking out of earshot, shaking her head, “…bad.”

Bow lets out a heavy sigh, turning his attention to the messenger. He’s small, no more than 13 years old. A teenage body pushed to the brink. The definition of what an adult meant was something that had been lowered quite drastically, which he had argued strongly against. He’s not a royal though. And years of friendship mean nothing when said royal is commanding an army, running a kingdom, and refusing to address whatever trauma has accumulated in her mind.

Suffice to say, he’s not exactly looking forward to the strategy meeting. He nods to the messenger, who after a couple seconds takes off in the direction of the infirmary. Trudging towards the center of the castle, Bow triest not to make eye contact with Sea Hawk, a mercenary pirate who’d accompanied the now-comatose princess of Salineas. The man alternated between a frantic busyness and completely depressed, depending upon the hour. He seemed to think Bow and him were friends for some reason, and while Bow would never deny someone a chance at friendship, having your injured maybe-girlfriend as the only thing you ever wanted to talk about wasn’t something he really could take anymore.

He shakes his head, jogging the rest of the way to avoid the currently frenetic man. Coming to a stop in the throne room, Bow takes a moment to steady himself. If he sits down now, he’s one hundred percent certain that he’ll pass out. His eyes twitch as he walks to the planning room, earning him plenty of raised eyebrows from the workers and soldiers streaming down the halls. Finally, with just a moment’s hesitation, he pushes open the planning room’s door.

Glimmer’s eyes meet his immediately as he lightly kicks the door shut behind him. Her face goes stony in one dramatic moment. Bow yawns a little, leaning against the table but not bothering to take a seat. The princess frowns a little, as if he’s deviated from some previously agreed-upon script.

“We need to plan our next move.” The holographic map springs up suddenly, the Horde’s ominous wings floating above a disturbingly large portion of the area shown.

“What is there to plan?” He’s a little incredulous. They still have to train a massive army to be on the defensive. There’s no way they have enough resources to take back any territories lost, with Plumeria razed to make way for factories and Salineas only accessible by boat. Maybe a couple small towns in the Whispering Woods.

“The Horde is extremely powerful right now. But they just lost a ton of resources and manpower trying to invade here. They won’t bother trying another major invasion, especially after Frosta completely blocked off her kingdom. Her realm has fuel deposits, but it’ll take time for them to adapt their non-weapons tech to the temperature.” She gestures, and three pins pop up on the map.

Glimmer points to the first, right above were the Kingdom of Snows is. “We can target the pipelines before they’re built. They can only suck so much out of the Whispering Woods before they overextend their reach, so this will impact them, but in the long run.”

Bow squints at the second pin. “That’s on their border in the woods. You want to target the newly-built infrastructure before it can start giving them a more serious advantage then they already have.”

She nods. “We can do both of those things once the conscripted civilians are trained and the defenses are maintained. But this,” she gestures to the third pin, “is something we can do now.”

“Mystacor?”

“We need a leg up. The shipments from Dryl don’t come fast enough to give us an edge over the Horde’s technology and manpower advantages. We need something they have no alternative to, something surprising that we can use to move the front lines closer to them.”

He scratches his stubble. “Magic could work, but there’s only so many sorcerers who are good enough to go into combat. We’d have to use them sparingly.”

Glimmer shakes her head. “Spreading our advantage too thin is ridiculous. A larger counter attack will send them reeling, and has the chance to devastate a huge chunk of their industrial capacity in one fell swoop. It’s risky, but worth it. The other objectives can go into effect once we have them on the retreat.” She grows in volume as she speaks, clearly having strongly made her mind up.

Bow’s hand moves to clench his nose. “Glimmer. The only people that attack would devastate is us. Brightmoon would have to send a massive force to accompany them. If we lose that, we lose the war.”

The princess stands up, beginning to pace. “Fine. We use magic sparingly, giving the Horde not only enough time to adapt, but to reinforce their most vital areas. All we take back is a couple pitiful plots of land. _Great _plan, Bow!”

The exhaustion is enough that he doesn’t bother to hold back his rising anger. “What was the point of having me here then? You could do this with the generals. You don’t need me here!” The archer slams his hands on the table, causing the hologram to flicker. “We messed up, Glimmer! We lost! Our preparations were _completely_ inadequate. Is there even a _point_ to retaking those kingdoms?”

Glimmer’s eyes go aflame with anger, hands curling into tight fists. Some small part of his mind screams at him to shut up, that he’s crossed a line, but he’s had too much pent-up frustration these past few months. It just keeps coming.

He points a damning finger at the outside world. “Do you think I haven’t done my own scouting? The Horde is obscenely wealthy right now. They’re providing for the people under their control better than _we _are. Now that won’t last, and most people have already soured to the Horde in general. But do you think they’ll revert back to being loyal to Brightmoon when for months all they’ve seen is Adora governing with a soft ha-”

“Do _not_ say her name!” Glimmer shouts, pink bolts of energy arcing down her body. “I’ve seen what she can do first hand, at _let me tell you_, ‘soft hand’ is horseshit!”

The obscenity catches him off-guard. “She’s a power-hungry freak who wants to conquer the world out of some _delusion_ of being a savior. You think the Plumerians and Salineans are going to forget about their kingdoms?” Glimmer throws her hands in the air. “Go ask my mom for help if you’re fed up with my useless ideas!”

Bow’s eyebrows go up a little. “Glimmer, I never even bro-”

“You don’t have to! I _know_ I failed, I _know_ this my fault, I _know_ I’m horrible, _I know!_” She takes a heavy breath, eyes clenching shut in an attempt to hold back tears. “I’ll fix this myself.”

“Wait, wait.” He holds his hand up, taking a moment to cool off. “Glimmer, you can’t blame this on yourself! Hell, the last battle we were in proved that you’re pretty effective as a commander.” Slowly making his way around the table, he continues. “We’re fighting a war! It’s not going to be easy, and we’ll have disagreements like this. But in the end, we’ll figure something out. We always have.” Bow gives her a soft smile, and offers up a hand.

“Times are tough, and it sounds like you have a lot on your mind.” Glimmer chuckles, wiping her eyes. “I’m always here, you know. I’ve only been your best friend for like, forever.” He shrugs a little, looking away for comedic effect.

After a couple seconds, he feels a calloused hand grab his. Glimmer sighs, leaning in for a hug as the archer wraps his arm around her.

“I-it’s all so overwhelming.” She pulls away slightly, pressing her cheek on his chest. “My mom is completely out of it, so she can barely help me. Everyone else expects me to just-just _know_ what to do. Every time we mess up,” She sniffs and gently pries herself out of his arms, “it just feels like my fault. And…” The princess glances to the side.

“I don’t think I’m a good person.”

Bow blinks, taken aback. “All I can focus on anymore i-is hate. Hatred of the Horde, of _Adora_,” she almost snarls the name, before her voice drops to almost a whisper, “hatred of myself. I killed a _person_, Bow. Most likely more than one, if I’m being honest with myself.” She turns back to meet his gaze, and the sheer horror in her own causes an instinctive shiver. “I- it…” she trails off, clearly at a loss.

Bow has no idea how he’s supposed to even _think_ about this, much less respond. Because on one hand, _Glimmer took lives_. It was always risky, being in the middle of a war, but he’d been proud of his commitment to not to kill, of _their _commitment. Unstated, yet always obviously there. It’s been broken, and he can’t help but be a little disturbed.

It won’t help her, though. She’s upset as well, to the point of an all-encompassing loathing of herself. He just emphasized the importance of remaining friends. Following through is crucial.

“Listen, you can’t go back and fix those mistakes.” He rushes to get the next sentence out as Glimmer winces. “A-all that means is that you have an opportunity to commit to making things better now.” He lowers himself down onto the nearest chair.

“After the Horde took Plumeria, do you know how guilty I felt? Not being able to save Perfuma? Seeing them hack and burn and poison their way into the Whispering Woods?” He looks up to the floral garnish adorning the seat. “It still comes up in my nightmares, yet it almost feels overshadowed by what just happened in Brightmoon.”

He leans his head back. “Is that fair? To feel like something preventable takes a backseat to something that isn’t? Is that assessment even accurate. I don’t know.” For just a second, the full exhaustion of the past month weighs on him all at once.

Letting out a sigh, he continues. “I’m not sure it matters though. What happened happened, and I have to deal with that and keep living at the same time. That’s what gets me through all this.” Bow grabs Glimmer’s hand again, looking straight into her eyes. “That tomorrow, I can at least _try_ to make the world better.”

Glimmer looks stunned, a stray tear rolling down her face. “I-I don’t know if I can think like that,” she mutters, before sniffling a little, “but I can try, at least.”

She leans against the chair’s side, sliding down to sit on the floor.

“We’ll get through this. We’ll figure out a plan, go to Mystacor… we’ll win.” She looks up at him. “We _will_ win.” It feels more like a demand for reassurance than a statement.

“Of course we will,” he responds. The archer is hardly confident in this. How can he be? Glimmer needs confident Bow, though. “Victory is just around the corner.”

Something shifts in the corner of his vision. He startles, whirling around to see what it was.

“What’s wrong?” Glimmer asks, getting to her feet slowly. Bow shakes his head. “I need sleep is what’s wrong. I thought I saw something move.” He chuckles a little.

“It was just a shadow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Finally, a break to explore characters a little more! I always wanted to cover Catra in this, but this is it for her. The point of this story is that she isn't really in it. I know, I know, we all love her, but such is the art of canon divergence. The next installment should not take six months. Sorry. Next time, we'll get to see how the mighty Hordak has adapted to his new home on Beast Island, Scorpia will get to voice some concerns (thus giving an outsider perspective on how poor Adora is getting on), and we see how Glimmer and Bow handle Mystacor. Comments and critiques are especially appreciated. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> And it all goes downhill from here. Next up, the siege of Plumeria (and maybe the Salineas Sea Gate, we'll see how long it gets)!


End file.
